It was just as well we went in, for we met Rolf and Fritz, who had been sent out in search of us, as the General, though in a good humour, was most impatient to speak to us. When we entered his room he was arranging his papers, and did not give us time to announce our engagement, as we intended.

“Francis,” he cried, “why did you stay out so long when I have such good news to tell you?”

“That’s just what I have to tell you, grandfather; but what can have pleased you so much? You have not been made heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property, have you?”

“It comes almost to the same thing, my child. Know then that the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property asks your hand in marriage. It is one of the conditions of the will; and I believe he will be agreeable to you.”

I smiled, though I found that Overberg and Van Beek had been in too great a hurry to inform the old Baron of the real state of affairs. I had wished to be the first to break this agreeable surprise to Francis.

She stepped forward towards the General, and in a firm voice she said—

“I am sorry, grandfather, to disappoint you. The gentleman comes too late, for I have just promised my hand and heart to my cousin, Leopold van Zonshoven—and that is the good news I came to tell you.”

“But that’s all the better, dear child—all the better; for the heir to Aunt Roselaer’s property and your cousin Leopold van Zonshoven are one and the same person; and on the condition that you should marry the heir.”

Francis, turning on me brusquely, cried, “It is not true, Leopold? Oh, say it is not true!” she exclaimed, violently agitated.

“Then I should not speak the truth,” I answered. “The only difference for you,” I continued, “is this: you thought you were giving your heart to a ‘poor gentleman,’ and now, like a prince in the fairy tales, he turns out to be a millionaire. Can such a surprise be disagreeable to you?”

“Not a disagreeable surprise to me”—she almost shrieked, with scintillating eyes and flushed cheeks—“to find you have put on a mask to deceive me! Have you not succeeded in inspiring me with esteem for you by your proud and dignified behaviour, and the elevated sentiments you professed? And do you think I can be happy to find that all this was but a comedy? Could a gentleman have treated me so? But you have deceived yourself, Jonker van Zonshoven. I gave my heart to a young man without fortune, whose upright and noble character I admired, and in whom I had more confidence than in myself; but for the intriguer, who, to seize upon my aunt’s fortune and make sure of it, has put on a disguise to win the heart of the woman he was ordered to marry, for this hypocrite, this pretended sage, I have nothing but—my contempt!”

“Be careful, Francis; I know your violent temper often causes you to say that which in cooler moments you regret; but don’t insult in such a manner the man you have just accepted as your husband—a man whom no one ever dared to address in such language, neither will he meekly bear it from any living being.”

“Need I make any respectful apologies, or do I owe any excuses to you, who have deceived me, lied to me, who have introduced yourself here like a spy, and carried on your mean and degrading speculations up to the very moment when you thought it impossible for me to retract my word? Once more, sir, I tell you, you are mistaken in my character. I will never pardon a man who has abused my confidence!”

“I have not abused your confidence, Francis,” I answered, in as calm and gentle a tone as I could; “I have only been studying your character, and trying to gain your affections, before I would venture an avowal of my sentiments—that is all I have done.”

“You have been false, I tell you. How can I any longer believe in your love? You came here to make what is called a good stroke of business, to gain your million. It is true, I loved you such as you were not as you now appear in my eyes. I will not be disposed of in marriage by any person dead or alive; and as for you, I refuse your offer. Do you understand me? I refuse you!”

Upon this she fell back in an armchair, pale as death.

I was myself obliged to lean on the back of a chair, for I felt my legs trembling under me. Rolf, tender-hearted as ever, had withdrawn to a corner of the room with tears in his eyes. The General, with agony depicted on his face, sat in his chair wringing his hands, and seemed unable to move from the spot.

“Francis, Francis,” he said, “don’t let your temper overmaster you in this way. Reflect that the Castle is mortgaged to the last stone, and that the last six months’ interest is not yet paid. If sold to-morrow it will not fetch a third of the amount for which I have mortgaged it, and it is only by the generosity of Jonker Leopold that the sale can any longer be delayed. He has offered to take it off my hands, together with all the mortgages with which it is burdened, and to allow me a yearly income which will make me comfortable for life; but you must marry him, otherwise all our plans come to nought. Understand that, and don’t insult a man who has such generous intentions towards us. He is still willing to forgive you, if you don’t persevere in your senseless refusal, I am sure; for I have for some time already been aware he loves you. And we have not to deal with him alone; there is a will made, and executors and lawyers appointed to see its provisions carried out. Now what shall I write to Overberg?”

“Write, grandfather,” said Francis, rousing herself with an effort, “that Francis Mordaunt will not suffer herself to be disposed of in marriage by anybody’s testamentary disposition; that she will neither sell herself for one million nor for two millions, and that she has decidedly refused Jonker van Zonshoven’s offer of marriage.”

Feeling confident Francis would do me justice when more calm and resigned, but feeling also the necessity of not giving way to violence in dealing with a character such as hers, I said—

“I who have your promise and will not release you from it, I request the General to write to Overberg that Miss Mordaunt has accepted my offer, and that the transfer of the Castle de Werve can forthwith be concluded.”

“If I will consent to the sale,” interposed Francis, still pale and unmoved.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Mordaunt,” I rejoined, “your grandfather is the sole owner of the Castle; and during his life the will by which it is bequeathed to you has no force nor value.”

“Ah! if she could only be brought to see all the circumstances in their true light,” sighed Von Zwenken.

“Well, uncle, you write what I have requested you to write; you know only too well the consequences of any other decision.”

“He wants you to write lies!” cried Francis, exasperatingly; “he’ll stick to his million, that’s clear.”

“Francis,” said the General, with the tone of a supplicant, “if you knew all I know! You are insulting a man who is generosity itself, who has power to ruin us all, and yet who seeks to save us if you will simply take the hand he holds out to you. Remember he can force us to sell the Castle if we do not consent to hand it over to him, however much against our own will.”

“It is possible that he has secretly acquired the power to drive us out of the Werve like beggars, but he cannot compel me to marry him.”

“We shall see about that,” I rejoined, proudly.

“You dare to talk to me of constraint—to me!” she cried, becoming furious, and advancing towards me—“you, Leopold,” she added, with an accent of real pain.

“Yes, Francis,” I answered, resolved to follow up my advantage, “you shall submit to the constraint of your own conscience, which must tell you that you owe me an apology. I am going away. Farewell. Try to reflect on this in your calmer moments. You have touched me to the quick; you have wounded my feelings of honour and my heart. Do not let me wait too long, or the wound will become incurable.”

I gave her a last look of gentle reproach, but her glassy eyes seemed insensible to all around her. I shook hands with the old Baron, who, with bowed head, was weeping like a child. Rolf followed me to my room, and besought me not to leave the Castle in such haste.

“She is like this,” he said, “when anything goes wrong with her. Within an hour she will regret what she has said, I am sure; the storm was too violent to last long.”

But my mind was made up. I packed up my luggage, slowly, I must confess, and always listening for a well-known step and a knock, which should announce Francis repentant and seeking a reconciliation. But she did not come.

I was miserable beyond all expression. It was like being shipwrecked in the harbour after a long voyage. To think this was the same woman at whose feet I had kneeled an hour ago, and whose hand I had kissed in a delirium of pleasure. And now she had turned upon me like a fury and declined my offer with contempt! I reflected that I ought to have acted more frankly and straightforwardly with her. For a moment the idea occurred to me to renounce all my rights as to Aunt Sophia’s property; but, after all, what good end could it serve—it would only reduce us both to poverty. I promised myself that, once arrived at Zutphen, I would send her in writing a complete statement of how affairs stood, and enclose aunt’s letter, which, out of delicacy, I had so far kept to myself. I would add a few words of explanation, and I doubted not that, in her calmer moments, she would do me justice.

And thus I acted; but as all the documents together made up too large a packet for the post, I confided them to a waiter at the hotel, who was to hand them over to a carrier calling every day at the Werve for orders. I flattered myself I should speedily receive an answer, and all the following day I passed in a feverish excitement, only increased in the evening when no answer came. During the night I never slept a moment. Another day passed, and still no answer; and now I gave myself up to the most complete despair. There was nothing for me to do but settle my affairs in all haste at Zutphen and return to the Hague.

I kept Overberg in the dark about my rupture with Francis, only telling him pressing business called me back to the Hague. I signed all the papers he put before me, and told him I would return as soon as possible. The fact was I felt seriously unwell, and, as you know, home is the best place under such circumstances; I thought I could there immerse myself in my favourite studies, but I only remember feeling an unbearable weight of oppression come over me.